He remembered the first time he had every gotten drunk. He'd been the ripe old age of 17 years old.

Just a few months ago

The music was piped to insane decibels, the bodies gyrating at an unnatural speed. You could've guessed it. It was a high school party. An 'East' high school party, to be more specific. It was at Chad's house, which was pretty small when Ryan compared it to his own grotesquely large home. Ryan kind of liked it here, it was semi-cramped, but without as many foyers and hallways as he and Sharpay had, you could tell if someone was here that you didn't want. In Ryan and Sharpay's house, someone could be creeping along the marbled hallways with a cleaver knife at you and you wouldn't even notice. Ryan sat in a corner, a beer in one hand, staring. Staring, at East high royalty. Which specific member of the Royals? Troy Armidaeus Bolton. He was stood at the very core of the thriving crowd, hands creeping all over his girlfriend, Gabriella. The most eligible woman in the entirety of East High. Long beautiful flowing black hair, full lips, heaving chest, it was no wonder that Troy chose her above the many other girls craving his attention, not to mention some guys as well. Ryan being one of them.

Troy and Gabi were dancing back to chest, Gabriella's ass grazing Troy's crotch every now and again. Troy's hand creeped over her shoulder, trying almost desperately to catch a slight brush of her breast. The one time he got near, she grabbed his hand immediately and yanked it away, placing it back on her waist. Gabriella caught a sight of Taylor entering the room, and sharply broke away from Troy and ran over, tottering uncertainly in her high heels. Troy looked around, alone on the dance floor. Several girls scoped him but before any of them could get their fake, stuck on talons into him, he made his way over to Ryan.

Now that his feet were not planted solidly on the ground, exactly how drunk Troy actually was. Crashing into more than five girls on the way towards him, but surprisingly only getting dirty looks from one (an angry looking emo girl who he suspected to be called Heather), he made his way eagerly over to Ryan. Slinging an arm over Ryan's shoulder and breathing a wave of vodka breath into Ryan's eyes, making them water. Ryan grinned sheepishly, taking a minute sip of beer, when what he really wanted to do was jump in ecstasy and do some retarded version of the Macarena. Simply because Troy was touching him. What Troy did next sent fire-works exploding into Ryan's mind. Leaning in and nearly falling, Troy smiled stupidly at Ryan and suddenly slurred:

"I love you Ry," He said, still on the nasty vodka breath. He pressed his face up against Ryan's face, planting a sloppy, wet kiss on his cheek. Ryan's whole face got chingly shivers. Ryan's heart leapt into his throat and felt like it was going to burst. His brain seemed to stop momentarily and he was just about the happiest than he ever had been in his life. He was about to reply to Troy when he carried on:

"You're the best'st friend ev'r," he slurred quite happily. This time Ryan's heart did not beat loudly. Instead, it seemed to just…stop. He wanted to fall to the ground and cry. He pulled away from Troy, who almost fell to the ground due to Ryan's sudden withdrawal.

Gibbering as he backed slowly away, he turned on his heels and ran, determined not to let anyone here see him crying. He ran out into the small garden, where some skinny blonde girl was passed out over the tacky green lawn furniture, a tall gangly red-head smoking in a corner. Ryan ran passed, sinking to the mud behind one of the areas few trees. He finally let the tears of his feeling for Troy run free. Many ran over his face, splashing and dissolving into the dirt beneath him. Not caring for his designer jeans, he sat on the ground, arms wrapped around his knees. Nobody he loved gave a damn about him. Not Troy, not Sharpay, not anyone. He wiped at his eyes almost viciously, almost wanting to hurt himself. He pounded the tree behind him, smashed his fists into the floor, and pressed his hands hard to his head, leaving long muddy imprints where his hand has been. He was breathing like he had ran a long race, his blue and white open shirt flapping in the wind showing his white t-shirt underneath. His hat lay on the floor beside him, top down in the mud. He glanced at it, loath filling his eyes. It was just another a sign of how much power everyone had over him, not just Sharpay, but Troy too. Troy had the power to make Ryan hate himself. Hate his body, his mind, not give a damn about how he looked at this moment. Holding him up by the tree, he pulled himself upright and walked out; head held high, arms crossed over his chest. Now he passed again, he could see what the unconscious blonde was actually wearing. A light pink vest top, white pants and a dark pink sequinned shrug. Who else could it be? A bottle lay lop-sided in her hand, and unbelievably, Sharpay Evans was actually snoring! Making a cruel decision to leave her to Zeke, her boyfriend of months now, he made his way into the proportionally accurate kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Brian and Cyndra in a tight embrace in the corner, behind the kitchen island. A smile tugged at Ryan's face, but he would not let it through. He could not let it through. He was too upset to be happy. Too upset to smile. Then, he noticed something. Something lying on the edge of the unit, diagonal from him. It was a bottle. A bottle of vodka.

He had never drunk before; spare a glass or two of wine at his parent's country club, and a beer at parties. But something was drawing him towards it. He couldn't place his finger on what, but something about that liquid clear bottle just called out to him. Calling, 'Hey, I can make you forget that everyone hates you!' or 'Hey Loser, I'm just what you need to make you less of a low-life.' Or 'Hey you, I can make the world seem much, much better.' A few sips were all he needed. Making a sudden a lunge at the bottle, he grabbed it by the neck and made his way upstairs, the bottle jammed under-neath his shirt. He found a room where no-body was, a bedroom, Chad's by the look of it. Wildcat posters, Computer with games he shouldn't be playing, DVDs on the shelf that he shouldn't be watching. A container of FRO-GLO lay on the bedside cabinet. Yes, definitely Chad's. He twisted the cap off the bottle, and contemplating it for only a few moments, brought it to his lips. It burned at his throat, made his feel like gagging and yet…he couldn't bring himself to not take another mouthful. Not because he wanted it, or he liked it, but because it reminded him. Of Troy. And whilst the thought of him repulsed Ryan, the same smell made him drawn to the bottle of what felt like his elixir, his life. And why did it feel like his life. Because it smelt like Troy. And Troy was his life.

About a sixth of the bottle in, he found the world had blurred over nicely, giving the fairy-lights in the garden (Taylor's idea, Ryan suspected) a nicely soft glow. Less oppressive, more simple. Just what Ryan liked. He lay back on Chad's bed, staring at the poster on the ceiling. It was the same giant poster that was in the Math hallway at school, the one with the basketball team on it. Ryan found himself looking at the blown-up image of Troy. Ryan breathed lighter. Bringing the bottle to his lips again, he closed his eyes and shut Troy out. Shut out Troy's stingingly blue eyes, his lips so plump they looked like they hurt, his abs, thought not visible through his wildcat's jersey, so toned and perfect. Just shut him out of his mind. Maybe, Ryan thought whilst drinking again from the bottle, if he tried to shut Troys image out of his brain enough (though it remained lingering behind his eyelids), he could shut out the feelings as well.

Soon, Ryan found himself a little over halfway through the glass bottle. He found that now, he didn't like what was happening. The world was not blurred over nicely anymore, but he still couldn't see, things were now weaving in and out of one another. It was dizzying him, and when he stood to find someone, anyone to make it stop, he fell straight to the ground. He was nearly in tears again. He didn't like this, it was scary and he felt ill and he just wanted it to stop. As he hauled himself onto the bed again, everything momentarily stopped weaving, and suddenly, just started spinning in perfect circles. Ryan groaned as his stoumach heaved itself into his throat, giving Ryan the distinctive feeling that what he'd eaten for lunch wasn't going to stay inside of him for very long. He thought he could faintly he voices, but they became steadily louder and giddier. They became accompanied by two pairs of footsteps, one loud and heavy, and the other quieter but somewhat sharper, tapping out a steady rhythm along the wooden tiled landing. The door to Chad's bedroom swung open, and Ryan's eyes, which had been directed to where he had heard the footsteps, saw two pairs of shoes, one large, hard-soled sneakers, the other elegant white heels, fastened by a silky ribbon, wrapping twice around the leg and tying halfway between the knee and the ankle. The heel scattered backward, in between the sneakers. One voice began to speak:

"I'll show you the primitive mating instincts of male mammals," some one muttered, sounding as though their lips were stuck together. When Ryan directed his attention to the peoples face rather than their legs, he realised to legs belonged to two people he knew: Chad and Taylor. And Chad's lips weren't stuck together; they were stuck to Taylor's. She was ripping of her button-down sweater, a sweet little baby-pink number, when she noticed Ryan sat on the bed. She screamed, covering her self with the jumper, even though she was wearing a deep ocean blue shirt underneath, and ran from the room. Chad, who had been un buttoning his own shirt, heard Tailors scream and looked at Ryan, a look between confusion and supreme annoyance on his face.

"Ryan?" he asked rather dimly. Ryan couldn't answer, the reason being that he felt as though if he opened his mouth, they were not in for a pretty sight. Chad made his way in front of Ryan, standing along the side of the bed. He glanced the side-table and took a double-take of the bottle.

"Ryan? Have you been drinking?" He asked, a calming note in his voice, placing a hand on Ryan shoulder. He wasn't the greatest when it came to emotions, but even he could tell something was wrong. Ryan looked pale and withdrawn, sickly. He was shaking a little too. Before Ryan could stop anything happening, his stoumach lurched. His face contorted, and leant forward, vomiting all down himself and on the most part of Chad's jeans and sneakers. Tears were leaking down Ryan's face as the same substance that had scalded his throat going down, burnt twice as much coming back up. Chad had leapt back with his arms up, as it some one had thrown him a hot potato, Ryan's vomit dripping off him. Once it had stopped, Chad looked around uncomfortably. Now his feeling towards Ryan was a confusing mixture of confusion, supreme annoyance, complete anger, and pity too. Seeming totally unsure of what to do, he did what every man does when he's out of his depth: he turned to a woman.

"TAYLOR! PROBLEM!" he yelled out of his bedroom door, flicking bits of puke of his knees. Taylor must have been waiting for Chad outside in the hallway, because she came rushing in, straight over to the bed and went straight into nursing, motherly-Taylor mode, the mode she used when Chad was drunk at parties and falling around crying everywhere.

"Oh Ryan, what on earth possessed you to do this?" She asked. Ryan was laying back on the pillow, whilst Taylor fussed over his stained clothes and sore throat.

"Troy…" he muttered under his breath, so softly even he had to strain his own ears to hear it.

"What?" she asked, kind of absent-mindedly. 'Nothing' Ryan answered. Sending Chad away for a glass of water, she pulled off his white shirt and buttoned his blue over-shirt up all the way. Usually he would care about someone seeing his scrawny, under-developed body, but he didn't have to energy or the will power. Chad scurried back into the room with the water. Taylor sat him up and made him sip at it, whilst one-handedly trying to fish her cell-phone out of her purse. Whilst it sounded easy, it looked pretty tough, since her left arm had to loop around the right to get to the purse without knocking the glass.

"You're freaking amazing, do you know that?" Chad asked, staring out of the window.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. Now make a use of yourself and get Zeke's ass up here." She snapped at her unhelpful boyfriend, tossing her gold and silver cell to him. After a few drinks, Chad's hand-eye coordination was not all it could have been, and he let it slip between his forefingers. Taylor groaned and turned back to Ryan. He felt horrible; weak and dishevelled. It was at this moment where he made a mental note NEVER to drink ever again. A few minutes later, Zeke arrived in the room, carrying Sharpay bridal-style, her arms linked around his neck.

"Oh thank god, you haven't left!" Taylor grinned, hugging Zeke and squashing Sharpay's sleeping form. "Think you can handle another?" She asked, jabbing her head in Ryan's general direction.

"Yeah, fine." Zeke replied absently. Sharpay sniffled in her sleep, her arm shooting up and slapping Zeke in the chin. "I hope he isn't as, uh, violent, as his sister?"

Chad laughed and shook Ryan's arm.

"Hey buddy, think you're up to walking?" he asked. Ryan grunted in what Chad supposed was agreement. Helping his intoxicated friend to his feet, Chad let go of Ryan's hand. It was a bad idea, as the world lurched again and Ryan fell forward, and would have smacked his face, lest Taylor caught him.

"Maybe not," Chad agreed with himself. "I'll grab him." Hooking his arm under Ryan's legs and pulling him of the ground with his throbbing Wildcat muscles, Chad made his way out of the room, Zeke tailing him. As they made their way down into the family room, many people stopped dancing and stared. The picture perfect Evans twins being carried drunk out of a party? Sharpay, they were used to, but Ryan? He was just too……frail, too timid, to do anything like that. Troy noticed, and chased them out of the door.

"What happened to him, then?" Troy asked, a note of worry in his voice, motioning to the quivering bundle in Chad's arms. Chad shrugged, and was about to get in the car behind Ryan when Troy grabbed his arm lightly.

"Nah, man, this is your party, go back in and enjoy yourself! I'll take care of this." Chad needed no further convincing, grinning broadly as he made his way hurriedly back to his bedroom, grabbing Taylor on the way.

"Who would've expected huh?" Zeke said, making conversation, as he rounded a sharp corner. The turn knocked Ryan, and he collapsed sideways into Troy's lap. Well, more like Troy's crotch.

"Um, oh, yeah. Always the quiet ones," He muttered quietly, uncomfortable with the placement of his 'best'st friend'. He looked down at Ryan's face, sleeping, breathing softly, as opposed to his sister, who was snoring like a jack-saw in the passenger seat. He was still quite drunk, but he found himself unwilling to move him until nature saw good to do so. Nature evidently saw good to do so a few minutes later, as Zeke rounded another sharp bend and sent Ryan's face reeling into the car window

"Owie," he whimpered, rubbing his head. Troy laughed inwardly. Owie? Ryan slung am arm around Troy's shoulders.

"Nighty-night Troy."

He still remembers it like it was yesterday. Back then things were simple. You got drunk, you said something stupid, you threw up, you slept, and you woke up with a hangover to kill and a sister who seemed impervious to them. That was then. This is now. And because of that stupid fucking Troy Bolton, now he's an addict.

And there no turning back.

All done, I think I may have found my third wall with this story, I think it's gonna turn out well, but If you don't, or do, or just feeling like dropping me a line, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW. Please (I'm a looser, they make me happy )